


Five Times Orbaz Had His Way - And Twice That He Did Not

by Consort of the Moribund (Inksinger)



Series: Night Will Bring No Dawn [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: 5 Times, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Homophobia, I will make Orbaz the single most hated character in all of fanon if it kills me, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Murder, Orbaz ruins everything, Other, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sexism, Torture, Undeath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Consort%20of%20the%20Moribund
Summary: Of the many times Orbaz Bloodbane has brought suffering and ruin upon his mortal victims, five moments in particular stand out. And of the times he has been hindered or beaten back, two remain the greatest strikes against the debauchery he inflicted upon the world.





	Five Times Orbaz Had His Way - And Twice That He Did Not

He was mortal, still, the first time he tasted blood.

In the years that followed, Orbaz would recall his actions this night and think himself young and inexperienced in the doing of them. Later, when undeath had claimed him and burned away all but a final few memories awash in adrenaline and death, all knowledge of his first crime would be lost to him - but the lust and fury it had awakened within him would be magnified and made glorious in his service to the Lich King.

In truth, he was a man in his prime when he had his first taste of true power - not so old as many of the members of Lordaeron’s vaunted army, and several decades yet from old age, but certainly no longer a young man. Thirty, perhaps. Thirty-five at the most.

He was certain he had been nearer to thirty.

His first lover was a blonde little thing - pretty, pale-skinned and green-eyed with a laugh like soft bells chiming. She had been twenty years. He was certain of that, as certain as he was of the perfectly sculpted nails tipping her fingers and the preference she showed for wearing lighter, softer shades of colors that were already bright and feminine. She left her hair loose in a small city where style and decorum demanded tight buns and braids of girls her age. When corsets came into fashion, she continued to go without them. In the summer, the spriteling went without shoes altogether and flitted about the marketplace on small, bare feet.

Orbaz had not been a young man, but he had been young enough at least to believe himself in love with the girl. For months he pursued her as a man should, offering her flowers and aid with large purchases, watching her across the streets, enduring the humiliation of her ignorance as time and again she seemed not to hear the longing in his voice, not to see the adoration in the long looks he gave her.

Such a small, young thing, she was. Slender in her limbs and smooth all across her skin. The thought of how it might be to hold her against him became a torment.

Still, she was young. Perhaps she had never known the attention of a man so worthy as Orbaz (certainly attention in general was nothing new to her; the mongrels who slavered after her in the streets were innumerable, and even if her own flippancy scorched his pride Orbaz found himself enjoying the jealous hatred in the eyes of other, lesser males for whom she would not spare but the briefest glance.)

Or perhaps she had never been courted by a man of higher social standing. Her family was neither wealthy nor well-known, and while Orbaz had not come from a noble house himself, his family was the nearest thing to celebrity that their small city could claim to have, able to trace their ancestry to its foundation and involved in nearly every aspect of the city’s history and public functions since. They were certainly well enough known to have been at the center of a few scandals - with Orbaz himself the focus of one - so perhaps it was the notoriety that made the girl hesitant to admit her feelings for him.

Surely she felt for him the same torturous ardour that chewed away at his sanity a little more each day. In his more lucid moments, when his love was an illuminating softness rather than a burning ache, he pitied the girl for having to endure the same wretchedness as he. Something that soft and bright could not possibly shoulder such a burden, and should never be made to.

All this in mind, he tried to be patient. He tried to be soft, and to give her the space she so clearly needed while she gathered up her courage. Surely she would realize her feelings in time; when she did, he would be there, waiting for her.

But the months dragged on and on, each more hideously dismal than the one that went before, and still the girl showed no signs of flitting to his side, where she belonged. With each brilliant smile, each careless brush of her arm or hand against his own, he grew more certain that she was aware of his intentions - and _mocking_ him with her quiet, gentle little laughs. Each new acknowledgement of his suitability as her _friend_ grated upon him a little more, and in time he grew to resent her innocent little smile, her bright little eyes, her gentle little hands with their skittering fingers. Like spiders, they were, many-legged and crawling across his cheek or arm with the guile of a dozen she-witches concentrated into one tiny, perfect vessel.

Patience gave away to bitterness - restless champing at a bit he had never learned to spit out. She saw it in him now; he was in no more mood to hide it for her sake, and so at times his movements around her grew sharp, or else his voice would grow clipped and brusque as they spoke together. He brought her fewer flowers, and although he still assisted her with her larger market purchases, he no longer did so with quite so ready a smile.

She had grown to depend upon him. She expected his kindness to be a free thing. Perhaps it was time now to teach her that a man was only kind and gentle when he expected to be repaid - and that Orbaz, having been the most consistently upstanding of all the men surrounding her, would only continue to be so if she gave him what he was due.

She was a stubborn thing - as stubborn as she was lovely. Rather than allow herself to be trained, she grew cold in direct correlation to how much Orbaz pulled away. Her smiles grew less frequent; her casual, almost accidental touches grew less and less, until it was _Orbaz_ who began to change, who began to fall desperately back to the practiced, gentle friendship that had first earned him those small graces.

Poison. They were not graces but poisons, and she was the witch who had brewed them up.

Love turned to utter hatred nearly overnight. He would not be made a mongrel, begging and slobbering for whatever small favors she deigned to offer him. She was a _woman._ She would _never_ be his equal, and he despised every ounce of power he allowed her to hold over him.

But his old softness yet remained, whispering gently in his mind, urging him towards understanding if not patience. Of course. Of course. Orbaz had lived a decade before she had been a seed within her mother’s womb. She was far younger than he - a child, yet, naïve and uneducated in the subtleties of the world. She was not intentionally cruel; she simply did not know better, and clearly had no capable teachers to instruct her.

Well, then, clearly it was time she learned her proper place in this world. And Orbaz was more than capable of teaching her. He had had plenty of time, after all, to learn to harden himself to her fey little tricks and games.

He could think of no one more suited to the task of her education.

-

“Walk with me,” he said one night, holding his arm out in invitation. It had grown dark earlier than usual, the setting sun sped along by the coming winter and the swiftly-moving stormfront that blew in from the north. His little temptress was in soft-soled slippers for the autumn weather, her skirts ground-length and her sleeves wrist-length to ward off the deepening chill of the waning year. Even still, she trembled delicately, like a flower touched by an unkind wind, and when she took his arm she moved in close to the warmth his larger body radiated - close enough that their sides remained in almost constant contact as they walked through the twilit streets.

He glowed inwardly, as well, and cursed himself for developing such an addiction to her. He should never have allowed her to gain so much sway over him - but no matter. He would return her to her proper place soon enough; in the meantime, it would do little harm to let her enjoy her stolen bit of dominance for a little while longer.

Orbaz and his family lived nearer to the marketplace than the girl and hers; this, the cold, and the numerous occasions she had been alone with him before (chaste and more joyless each time for him, and each had led to another cold, sleepless night when he was tortured by the thought of how he might have turned the situation on its head instead of simper after her) made her readily willing to return home with him this night, as well. Her blind faith in the purity of his intentions was a precious thing, and he hated to have to shatter it, but it was all for a good cause. She could never blossom into the obedient wife and lover she was destined to be if he was not cruel to her just this once. She would forgive him, and someday she would understand the necessity of his actions tonight. In time, perhaps she would even thank him for loving her deeply enough to do what he must for her sake.

He let the night play out innocuously enough at first. It helped that he had told no one of his plans, and that his loving family did not often pry into his business unless they must. They suspected nothing was amiss, and so the girl was left at ease and utterly unaware of her impending coming-of-age. She ate at his side at the family table, sat comfortably beside him on one of the couches in the sitting room, and allowed him to follow her upstairs when it came time to turn in for the night. Once on the second floor, like a lamb, she followed him meekly to the guest room and bid him a sweet, smiling good night before closing the door gently between them.

The door to each bedroom in this house locked from within, to safeguard against midnight robberies - an uncommon but very real danger in their little city. He waited outside her room, back enough from her door that she would not see his shadow through the crack under the door, but he did not hear the lock turn.

Orbaz returned to his own room and closed the door equally as softly. He did not allow himself to sleep, though he did lay down atop his bed; the walls could be thin at times, and he did not want to risk her becoming suspicious. She was a clever little creature, and might slip away like water through his hands if he did not act with the utmost care.

He waited until the light in the hallway had been snuffed and the house had fallen still and silent. Then, and only then, did he rise carefully from his bed - wary of the old, unquiet springs in the mattress - and pace on soft, steady feet towards his wardrobe. He’d oiled the hinges on the doors this morning; they made no sound now as he opened them and reach inside for the length of silken rope he’d coiled about the rod days ago.

Silk. Expensive, and difficult to explain away to the merchant from whom it had been purchased, but the expense and trouble were small things to him. He needed a material strong enough to restrain and gentle enough, he hoped, that it would not injure her too terribly before she submitted to him.

He needed nothing else - only this bit of rope to bind her little hands (and finding rope thin enough that her delicate wrists would not slip their bindings had been a challenge all on its own.) She would kick at him, but her slender legs and little feet would not have the power necessary to drive him away. She would cry out, but his hand would fit firmly and perfectly about her mouth if ever he could pull his lips from hers.

She would not be able to escape him once he had her.

He had oiled the hinges of his door, as well; the knob squeaked only once, and softly, as he turned it. He was careful - agonizingly careful - to close the door silently behind him. The pursuit was always the trickiest part; after coming so far, it would be a failure he could not endure if he allowed even the tiniest mistake to destroy his months of work and patience.

He tested the knob before he attempted to open the door. Slowly, slowly, he turned the thing, and its cool metal warmed gradually in his grip. It completed its cycle smoothly; he could feel the latch slip from the strike. Only once the knob would turn no further did he ease the door open. This one he had oiled only several days before, so that she would not be suspicious of how quietly it swung now. It was upkeep to tend to the hinges on the guest room door every other week; it was preparation to do it the morning before he would invite her to his home. She was innocent, but not entirely guileless for it. He could risk no tiny tell reaching her enough to frighten her.

The door swung softly for him - enough that her sleeping form in the room beyond did not stir as he slipped silently inside and closed the door behind him with equal caution. He locked the deadbolt with fingers that threatened to shake with the care he exhibited; if she ran for her door, she would not expect it to be locked. Attempting to turn the latch back would cost her seconds she would not have to spare.

Heavy curtains clothed the room's single window. If they had been fully closed, they would have been enough to trap her as easily as the deadbolt on the door; instead, they had been left open just a hair, so that perhaps three to five inches lay between the inner edges of them. The space was just wide enough to allow the milky light of the waning moon to flow through and cast the room in soft, silvery hues.

Of course. His little nymph was a creature of light; of course she would delight in the moon and stars, and seek to sleep bathed in their gentle illumination. He smiled softly at the thought. It was well that she did; this way she would see him more easily when he parted her, and surely recognition would soothe her fear and make her give herself over to him more willingly.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he approached her, stepping on feet so soft they shook with the effort of his silence. He was not a man built for grace or subtlety; it was his lamb who had aroused such tenderness within him. His love for her could let him move mountains in her name.

She lay upon her side, facing the window with her hands already crossed neatly before her. He stopped and looked on her for an indulgent moment - on her sleep-smoothed features, on the lines of her perfect little body, on the placement of her wrists that was so like an offering - and then reached out to gather her little wrists in one hand while the other retrieved the coil of rope from his shoulder.

She did not stir at his touch, though her wrists were cooler than his palm. He was gentle with her, raising her wrists only enough that he could slip the first loop of rope about them.

It was as he tightened the loop that she sighed softly, and shifted one leg beneath the covers in her sleep.

He was startled enough to freeze for a moment in her binding, holding his breath as he watched her face for signs of wakefulness. But her features remained soft, and after a long moment he let himself breathe again and carefully returned to the task of tying her hands.

But he was careless with the shadows he cast as he worked, and moved so that his arm blocked the moonlight from reaching her face. That paired with the disturbance of her body proved too much, and she stirred again with a quiet whimper and began to pull her hands towards her chest.

He was a young, stupid man then.

Panic lashed again at him, and he grabbed hard at her wrists and threw the rope about them as she woke and gasped and began to struggle.

And oh, did she struggle, his little nymph. Harder and more ferociously than he had anticipated, kicking out with startling strength and thrashing, squirming relentlessly against his superior strength like a little silverfin caught on the line. She wasn’t strong enough to throw him off, nor slick enough to keep him from binding her wrists tightly together and pinning them up above her head with one hand. The other he clapped over her mouth just in time to muffle the short, squealing shriek she tried to let out. It would not be enough to rouse his family.

“Be still,” he hissed, bringing his face close to her own. “Be quiet. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Still she struggled, blind with her own panic and tossing herself about hard enough that the springs in the mattress began to creak and pop ever more loudly. Growling under his breath, Orbaz flung himself over his woman, pinning her down with his own body and shoving his knee between her legs to further trap her.

“Hush!” he spat. “Be a good girl and lay still.”

She must have only then realized who he was, for she flinched and went still for an instant as recognition blossomed through her features. Her little eyes grew wide in the moonlight; beneath his palm, he could feel her mouth moving over the syllables of his name. Heat flared through him - her mouth was against his flesh, her lips formed his name as she lay prone beneath him, and somehow for all she still seemed not to realize how little danger she was truly in there was a sudden intimacy present in the moment, heady and dizzying.

He wanted to taste her. The urge was swift and overwhelming. Her skin, the sweat gleaming faintly now upon it - her lips, her tongue - the warm, wet opening of her body. How would it be, to press his lips to those delicate folds, to slip his tongue inside the tight little cavern beyond them and lap up the sweet nectar that would flow from it?

Young and stupid. He should never have let himself become so distracted.

In the haze of his lust, he did not register the danger in the sudden stillness of the lithe little form beneath him - too sudden, too complete to be born of obedient surrender. Instead he let himself be encouraged by the change in her demeanor, and his grip upon her loosened.

One little knee came up to slam against the meat of his side as teeth met sharply in the flesh of his hand. Orbaz snarled and flung the hand about her wrists downward, trapping her leg against his side in spite of the mounting pain--

Pain exploded through his nose and blossomed outward through his cheeks, knocking him nearly off the bed and blinding him so that a second and then a third double-handed strike could land with equal force against his jaw and chest. He lashed out with both hands, swinging at the treacherous bitch as she twisted violently beneath him and shrieked at the top of her lungs.

“Shut up!” he roared. One fist connected with her jaw, snapping her head to the side and silencing her.

The door slammed open - hands grabbed at his tunic and arms twisted like steel bars about his chest as he was hauled back and off and away from the little viper. Orbaz swore and thrashed against his father and brother, eyes locked ahead as they dragged him further back, towards the door while his mother rushed to the side of the bitch and unbound her wrists.

-

The little bitch lived. Her jaw was cracked, her wrists were bruised and bloodied from the ropes, and she walked with a little limp, but she lived to make his life an even greater hell.

Her peasant family rallied about their little _angel,_ threatening to have Orbaz hauled before the courts as though he were some common cur.

Orbaz’ kin were cowards all, and valued above all else their precious reputation among the community. It took no more than one threat of legal action from the bitch’s family before Orbaz’ flesh and blood turned on him, eager to avoid another scandal - and, he had no doubt, to be rid of Orbaz altogether. Worthless pit of vipers.

His _noble_ father had many connections throughout Lordaeron, and used them to have Orbaz drafted into the kingdom's military and assigned to a secondary base near the shared border with the elf kingdom to the north - far away from his home and the bitch. And it was crucial that he was drafted, and not conscripted, so that it seemed to all outsiders that Orbaz had been recruited on his own merit, rather than shipped away to avoid having to involve the courts in the mess the bitch had created for them all.

Orbaz bristled at the injustice. All of this over one stupid little girl. All of this because she squealed and wept and made such a pretty damsel that no one else could look beyond her vicious little ruse and see just how thoroughly she had deserved - and deserved all the more now! - to be held down and fucked until she learned her proper place. He knew his family hated him, but to debase themselves so thoroughly to appease a spoiled little girl--!

…No matter.

No, in fact, he was better off this way. This was no great punishment for Orbaz - it was a release from these rats and vipers who had scowled down their noses at him for so many years. Now he would never have to deal with any of them again, and good riddance to the lot of them.

On the day before he was to leave, he heard tell that the little bitch had left the city and gone to stay with relatives in one of the little farming communities to the west. She was destined for hard work and little luxury there; perhaps she had been punished for the shrew she was after all.

And there would be so much less stonework out there in the country - and so much more grain and straw out where a carelessly handled lantern might create an inferno. What a pity it would be, if the little bitch - unaccustomed as she must be to farm life - were to accidentally send a barn up in flames while she was trapped inside.

He let the thought of Lily screaming as she burned alive soothe his wounded pride, and when he left the city he was smiling all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> I would apologize for this, but I feel as though I shouldn't apologize until I know why the hell I keep doing this to everybody.


End file.
